Burned Angel
by Eos Blaze 0402
Summary: His face is burnt canvas of his past, hers is a mask to hide pain. He hates being dependent, she is dependable. He is a king but she refuses to be his subject. He needs her skill, her comfort, her love but he will never beg. She needs his strength, his love but she will never surrender. Can there ever be love between them? Can it survive beneath their pride and misunderstandings?
1. Chapter 1

**This is the new elejah fic I have started. It's a bit unconventional but please give it a try and let me know what you think.**

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><p>BURNED ANGEL<p>

Chapter One

Draw me like fire,  
>Seared across the page,<br>Fast lines of red and orange,  
>Only a fragment,<br>Solitary burn  
>until morning dew relieves me,<br>Raw and open,  
>open and closed,<br>Make me the fire  
>of quickly burning eyes.<p>

-Blindness by Kassel D

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><p>Darkness was a refuge. It was an impregnable fortress where he could hide in his own loneliness and misery. It was a catacomb where he could lose himself without remembering the pain. He could feel the heat of sun on his skin, the smell of fallen apples of his orchard, he could smell the roses of his garden and yet he couldn't see. He couldn't see the light, the colors, the birds, the bees, the sun, the sky and numerous clouds that lined it. He couldn't see the beauty of roses, the optimism of sun, and the strength of the earth that bore his weight. Once upon a time he had seen them, taken in the beauty, the words that nature gave him. Once upon a time, a time long ago he had lived. But that time was long past, now he sat here, a shell of man that had once incited terror in the hearts of people he had ruled incited passion in women whom he had loved.<p>

At the moment he just existed, sitting here in his garden he dreamt about the years that were long gone, dreamt about the brother he had lost, the sister he had sacrificed. Now when he couldn't see or feel he could analyze all the mistakes of his long burdened life. The oncoming footsteps alerted him of his personal aide's arrival.

Damon Salvatore had served Elijah Mikaelson for 113 years and from past 20 years he had been Elijah's eyes and ears. He tried his level best to keep his master informed of everything that went on in the vampire world. The king didn't sit on the throne these days that didn't mean the king was no longer a king. Elijah Mikaelson was the undisputed ruler of the dwellers of the dark, a place some said he had gained by defeating his father, the ancient one. Elijah was 'the vampire', creator who had created new race, turned the mortals into night walkers, a gift of immortality that was bestowed on chosen few.

He along with his four siblings represented the royalty of vampire world. Unfortunately, now only remained two apart from him. Some said his brother had been hunted by the ancient one, killed because he was part wolf. Some said he had killed his sister to save his brother. Nobody knew the truth apart from the people present in that garden. Elijah himself and Damon.

"She refused again master."

"Even after you made an offer for five million dollars?" he asked. His voice was deep husky baritone with slight accent.

"Yes master. She is adamant she won't come down here. She states either you go to Chicago or consult with different surgeon. She even faxed a list of other notable plastic surgeons."

"But I don't want someone else. I want the best and fastest. She is that. Dr. Elena Gilbert is the fastest plastic surgeon Damon, and in my case we need the speed."

"I understand master but she refuses every time. I don't know what to do." Damon was hesitant.

"Double the offer. Make it 10 million dollars. Let's see how she refuses that." The years he had roamed as vampire on the earth had taught him many things regarding human race and he knew from experience that humans were greedy. They always waited for something bigger, something better. He didn't think Elena Gilbert was any different. Just for this once he needed a mortal's greed for his own need.

"It's getting late sire, you must come inside."

Damon's hands settled on his shoulders as he stood to guide him towards his chambers. How he detested his weakness and abhorred his vulnerability and yet he was dependent on Damon. The hood of his cloak covered his face as it had from past 20 years, a mystery shrouded in darkness. His steps were slow and his gait tired. It looked as if time finally had caught up with the vampire lord, not physically but mentally. Physically he was considered a handsome man by those who remembered him, tall and lithe like a cudgel, his eyes a warm chocolaty brown and his hair like burnished dark bronze. His face had remained unchanged, youthful in its appearance; the clash of bones had created something aristocratic and handsome in its appearance. But nobody had seen him without his hood from past twenty years, nobody had seen him in the light of day, nobody had met him without the darkness surrounding him. To the newly created he was becoming a story, a story they told yet didn't believe. To the older ones he was becoming weak, his leadership in question. It was a fact that subjects needed to see their ruler to believe in order, to believe there was someone who could punish them for their misdeeds. The riots were breaking out in the parts of vampire world, the vampire territories fighting among themselves for control. They had reached his room.

"Will there be anything else, master?" Damon asked.

"No Damon. You are excused. I want to be alone."

The sudden stillness told him he was alone in his chambers and in his own proximity he threw back his hood. His hands rose to trace the familiar texture of his face, his skin but as soon as they came in contact with the surface, all they found were unfamiliarity. There was no smooth shaven cheek, no nose, no lips, no eye lids or lashes. His face was an ugly canvas of jutting bones and just healed flesh. It looked somebody had slashed his face open with knife and sewed it while they were drunk. His face was gruesome, a ghastly display of brutality and madness. The perfection of him was marred by the imperfection of his face. He still remembered the day it had happened, twenty years ago when he and his brother Nicklaus had been caught along with their sister Rebekah.

He could still hear Rebekah's screams, he could still hear Nicklaus's cry of anguish as they butchered his wife and child. Even now the memory of their fear, their terror terrified him. He was the strongest vampire in existence, the oldest and the original and yet he too was weak against vervain. They had used knifes soaked in vervain and ashes of white oak. Two things even Elijah Mikaelson couldn't fight. Damon had rescued him from his captors and he still didn't know what had become of his captured siblings. Every moment his undead heart tortured him and his nonexistent soul crowned him a coward. From past 20 years he hadn't seen the light, the world as it changed and morphed into something more intricate. From past 20 years his face had vanished behind his hood.

Damon had suggested the idea of a mortal surgeon reopening his face and resetting his bones, removing the lingering vervain, so that his face could heal properly to its former identity. Ten plastic surgeons had examined him till day; every one of them a notable name but only one or two had been able to keep their food down once they had examined the monstrosity of his face. Few months ago Damon had found an article in the Times magazine about Dr. Elena Gilbert and her speed by which she did a surgery. She was a renowned plastic surgeon, still young enough to be considered a child among her peers but talented enough to give them a run for their money. He had offered Elena Gilbert vast sum of money and yet she refused. Money was not a concern for him. In his more than thousand years of life he had accumulated huge wealth, the ten million dollars that he was offering her was a measly sum. He could offer her ten times more if she agreed to operate on him. He wasn't a vain person but he needed his eyes if not his face. He needed to see, he needed those eyes desperately, eyes that were buried beneath the healed mass of flesh.

He felt his way towards the window of his room. The cool air greeted his face, smelling faintly of lavender, roses and freshly mown grass. He turned his face upwards pretending he could still see the stars like diamonds stretched across the dark body of sky, pretending he could still see the moon creating the ripples of moonlight in the cosmic lake…

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><p><strong>So what do you think? Should I continue this? Review and let me know what you think.<strong>

**-Eos**

**:)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to all of you guys who read, followed, favorite, reviewed, visited and viewed this story. And yes sadly I don't own Vampire Diaries. **

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

I don't know why do you cry?

Accept failure before you try,

Try to hide as you die inside,

Don't let the tears fall from your eyes.

You want to be strong I know,

To bear the sting as your losses grow,

To hear the taunts as they bait you,

Forgetting they have failed too.

-Failure by Lucifera Santez

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><p>Elena Gilbert felt as if her legs were demanding a permanent vacation as she sat finally at the inviting chair in her office. Straight six hours of surgery was definitely satisfying when you got the desired result. She had done three cleft palate surgeries in straight row and man the pleasure you got from giving the families the good news was worth the fatigue and sleepless nights.<p>

She was good at what she did and proud to do it. She had no social life to speak of from past year and she liked to devote the hours to her craft. She could feel the sleep slipping through tiniest of cracks of tiredness. She let herself drift which was the reason she didn't hear her office manager April Young when she came to leave the mail on Elena's desk.

"Overexerted yourself again, didn't you?"

"Nah, just a bit tired. I am sure I just need sleep for couple of hours, nothing else." Elena answered without opening her eyes.

"Yeah you should take this Mikaelson guy's offer. 10 million dollars is not something you would want to refuse without thinking."

Elena shot from her chair as if somebody had electrocuted her.

"10 million dollars?" she stuttered.

"Yes apparently that's his new offer."

"You are kidding right?"

"I don't joke about 10 million dollars Elena. Why don't you just go to New Orleans and fix this guy's whatever that needs to be fixed?" there was mild annoyance in April's bespectacled eyes.

It was not as if 10 million dollars was something to reject without a second thought but however tempting this offer was, she wasn't going to take it. Call it a hunch, sixth sensation, déjà vu she had a very bad feeling about this Mikaelson guy.

What did he needed fixed exactly that he was paying 10 million dollars? Was he a man stuck in the wrong body? She had done a lot of gender correction. Hopkins had her on the top of their rec sheet. Was he homophobic? Afraid of coming out to his parents? Whatever was the case she knew she couldn't take him as a patient. Whoever was offering that kinda of money was surely a lot of trouble. She knew it was gonna hurt. 10 million dollars could be nice security in her bank account.

"Fax him my denial and referral letter." She instructed.

"Already done that numerous times. Why don't you talk to him and convey you are strictly not interested in performing his surgery for any ridiculous amount of money."

Elena nodded as she took the card from April. There was a crest or more like stylized E twined intricately with a serpent.

_E. Mikaelson, __château de __la __mort, New Orléans, Louisiana, U.S.A. _no house number, no street name, and no zip code just a contact number written at the bottom of the card.

She held the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she waited for the call to connect reviewing the weighty nightmare that was Amy Bradley's case file. Operating on girl was a difficult task and not only because of the numerous burns that were healing on her body. The therapist was unwilling to see her and she wasn't blaming Matt, not after what happened the last time-

A deep masculine voice answered the other end of the line. "_Château de __la __mort, Damon Salvatore._"

"Hello this is Dr. Elena Gilbert. Is Mr. Mikaelson available?"

"No doctor he isn't. May I take the message?" the guy sounded like one of those upper crusts educated in some fancy expensive boarding school.

"Sure." Maybe this time he would get the message that she wasn't interested in performing any kind of surgery on him for any amount of money. "I got Mr. Mikaelsons letter and latest offer but my answer is still the same. I can't come to New Orleans for the surgery. But I would be happy enough to do so here in Chicago."

"Indeed." Was it her or did this Mr. Salvatore sound a bit cold?

"You understand doctor that money is no object and Mr. Mikaelson is in great need. Can't you make an exception?"

"As I have stated before Mr. Salvatore I am unable to leave Chicago. I have previous engagements and responsibilities. I would be too happy to do the consultation and surgery if Mr. Mikaelson could come to Chicago." She wanted to pull her hair from her scalp from frustration.

"That is not possible Dr. Gilbert."

"Then I am sorry I can do nothing more. My office manager has faxed a referral sheet."

"I will convey your message to Mr. Mikaelson. Thank you for your time Dr. Gilbert." He hung up with an abrupt click.

What was with this Mikaelson guy? Why couldn't he come to Chicago? Was he badly injured? Russian mafia? Mob? Or was he one of those people who were afraid to fly on a plane?

Anyway whatever it was she was sure she wasn't going to get anymore ludicrous offers for a single operation.

But who had referred her to him? It wasn't as if she was the only one reconstructive surgeon. There were numerous others, who were experienced than her, famous than her. Then who had referred Dr. Elena Gilbert to this E. Mikaelson?

Or he could have read about her in that stupid article of times. That article had given her more exposure than she needed. Damn. But she hoped he had got the message that she wasn't interested in his offer.

"So rejected the million dollar offer?" April mocked lightly as she came to inform her about her next patient.

"Yeah." She said getting up.

"Well you have Robinsons next. So I would suggest you take an aspirin or two."

"Damn." She cursed. This day was getting way too longer.

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><p>Finally she was free for the evening. No more patients. She mused stretching her hands as she leaned on her car for support. So Chinese takeout, a good movie and a long overdue chat with Caroline was in her schedule. A slight whoosh alerted her of a presence. She turned to see if it was April coming to collect her car after locking the office up but there was no one. She felt spooked and she hadn't felt spooked since she was ten and her brother Jeremy had played a stupid prank on her.<p>

"Hello?" See no answer. It was just a gust of wind. Her rational mind argued when she heard the swish.

In her haste to take out the car keys from her bag she didn't notice the figure advancing towards her. And in next moment her world became a dab of black as her body crumpled on ground.

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><p><strong>So another cliffhanger. I am evil that way. Review and let me know what ya thought of the chapter. You can see the pics related to my fic on my twitter account or the link will be on my profile page in couple of days. Love y'all.<strong>

**-Eos**


	3. Chapter 3

**A new chapter. I had to research a bit before writing this so it took a little bit more time than I was expecting. Thanks a lot for reviewing, favoriting, following, reading or scrolling through. I don't own Vampire Diaries. Enjoy…**

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><p>Chapter three<p>

For her I am no one,

A scepter banished,

In the well

Of darkness…

A beast,

Ugly and wild,

A man,

Bound to love a woman- child.

-Beast by Lucifera Santez

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><p>It had been years since she had opened her eyes in a bedroom which wasn't hers. The sudden burst of panic sent her clawing her surroundings for her clothes and underwear but then she remembered she was not getting any action these days. But her brain reminded her that a large chunk of time was black which meant drugs or anesthesia were involved which pointed to the conclusion that she had been abducted. She patted herself hastily again just to discover her clothes were all there, even her shoes which meant some pervert hadn't played out all his fantasies of sleeping beauty on her.<p>

Where the hell was she? And what the hell was with the drapes around the bed? Was she really sleeping somewhere locked in tower so that some aged old perv could come and play prince to her sleeping beauty?

Elena sat up, trying to open the heavy velvet crimson drapes. Finally when she managed her eyes were awestruck with the beauty of the room. It was a room fit for queens and empresses. All vivid splashes of colors against the somber background of crème. Her feet sank in the thick plush carpet as she ventured to open the windows which were shut and curtains drawn.

She tried opening one of them but they were locked. Seriously all this was getting very twisted fairy tale type. She looked around to take in the room more closely. Whoever had decorated it had serious bucks and great style. But this didn't answer her question about where she was. She glanced at her watch, it was nearly six which meant she had been here for more than 12 hours. Good lord her patients, her appointments? She was going to kill whoever was responsible for this shit.

The sound of turning lock alerted her and she dashed to pick the heavy vase standing in the corner. She was going to crack her captor's skull. How dare anyone abduct her and keep in this beautiful room? Well okay she was going to give discount on the number of times vase was going to meet her captor's head for keeping her in this lovely room.

Well she had neglected the part where you try to come up with a plan of escape if your abductor is too beautiful and he turns your brains to mush, making you ineligible of any coherent thought.

The guy who came through the door was one of the sexiest men she had ever seen in flesh or photos. He stood just a bit less than six feet. His body lithe and athletic, toned as a swimmer's or fencers. The black silk shirt clung to his hard musculature giving a teasing hint about washboard abs. She was swooning and she hadn't even properly let herself register his face. Dear lord was this guy for real? His face was stuff of women fantasies. Straight nose which was just perfect, not too long nor too short, pale skin with olive undertones, his face was a perfect clash of strong jaw line and high cheekbones, all laying emphasis on his deep blue eyes which were on her face.

"Good morning Dr. Gilbert. Welcome to Chateau de la mort." His sentence had come to an end and the vase from Elena's hand was flying towards him at an incredible skull cracking speed.

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><p>But the scene that unfolded in the next moment was more like anti climax. He ducked split second before the projectile could touch him and the vase bounced harmlessly from the back wall.<p>

The rich guy from New Orleans had her kidnapped and this was the secretary Damon Salvatore she had talked to on phone? Nothing made sense.

"Dr. Gilbert? Dr. Gilbert?" he was waving his hands in front of her face trying to gain her attention.

"Your douche of a boss had me kidnapped. Let me go." She tried to summon her best commanding voice.

"I will not hurt you, I assure you but I am afraid I can't let you go." His voice had slight accent. Probably French? Italian?

"You see Mr. Mikaelson is in great need Dr. Gilbert. He needs your skills and he is willing to pay for it. Whatever price you name, it's yours. You just have to operate on him." Was she imagining or did Damon Salvatore's voice had really roughened from emotion.

"So let's assume maybe I get ready to operate but what the hell I am operating on?" she was exasperated from all the riddles this guy was talking in even if he was hot.

"All will be explained in due time Dr. Gilbert. I just ask for a little of your time and patience. All your questions will be answered in couple of hours."

"So what do I do till then? Play charades with you to amuse myself or are you gonna lock me in here like new fish in an overpriced aquarium?" her eyes were narrowed, challenging him.

"I will do no such thing Doctor but I can provide you books for your entertainment." He was amused.

She scowled. Handsome bastard. If he thought she was staying meekly without fight then he was dead wrong.

"So am I to remain in here during the two hours I have to meet your jerk boss or am I allowed to go out of this room?"

"I am sorry Dr. Gilbert but I can't allow you to go out. Will there be anything else?" he was still polite.

"You haven't fed me. I can't operate on empty stomach now, can I?" her voice was saccharine sweet.

"My apologies Doctor. Refreshment will be on its way. There is a dress in closet. You can change before I come to take you to Mr. Mikaelson."

"No thank you. I prefer my own clothes." She glared.

"As you wish. Good day Dr. Gilbert." He was about to lock the door when she asked the question that was niggling her.

"Mr. Salvatore if you don't mind my asking, what kind of surgeries does Mr. Mikaelson require? Is he a man stuck in wrong body? Do I need to perform gender correction?"

It looked as if he was on the verge of laughing out loud. If she looked closely she could see the flush on his face and sheen of moisture in his eyes indicative that he was trying hardly to suppress his laughter.

"Why don't you ask him that when you meet him Dr. Gilbert?" and with that parting remark he shut the door locking it.

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><p>Damon Salvatore couldn't control himself. Gender correction? He was laughing so hard, he thought his bones would crack. Tears of laughter were running down his eyes as he entered his master's chambers.<p>

"What has got you in this splendid mood Damon?" Elijah enquired.

"The Doctor, master. You wouldn't believe what she asked me."

"And what would be that Mr. Salvatore?"

"She asked if you needed gender correction." Damon couldn't control himself and he started laughing again.

Gender Correction? Elijah couldn't fathom why the doctor had even thought of such thing. He was comfortable with his masculinity, thank you very much.

"She is feisty isn't she Damon? Just as Trevor told us?" there was a note of curiosity in his voice.

"That she is sire. But I would advise you not to mention Trevor or her abduction. She is very cross with you at the moment." Damon advised.

"The perks of you being my advisor I guess. I didn't even order her kidnapping."

"But she doesn't need to know that master. She already tried to break my skull. If she knew her abduction my deed she will kill me."

"Afraid of a mortal Damon?" Elijah mocked.

"Just this one sire."

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><p>Elena decided to examine the room closely. What else was she gonna do for two hours? She took in the paintings on the wall, vases placed strategically around the room. The room was decorated with casual yet stately approach. She decided to check out the dress Damon Salvatore said was in the closet.<p>

Holy hell, he called this a closet. It was bigger than her room back home in Mystic Falls. There was a single dress hanging from the hanger, still in covers. She unwrapped it and she couldn't stop herself from running her hands on the smooth fabric.

The dark green color enhanced the cut and style of dress. She could imagine herself wearing it and looking fabulous in it. My god, Caroline would have an orgasm if she saw the label.

But Elena was made of sterner stuff. She would resist this temptation. But when she looked herself in the full length mirror, she knew resisting would be hard. She felt dirty in her day old clothes. She could imagine how smooth the fabric of the dress would feel against her skin.

She put the confection of green silk back in the closet where she had found it.

Damn, she would better eat the sandwiches E. Mikaelson's staff had sent her and truth to be told she was ravenously hungry.

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><p>It was time. Elijah could feel the rays of sun fading away as the warmth receded too. His deduction was confirmed as Damon came to help him to his room. If fates didn't conspire against him this time, by grace of gods he would see his garden tomorrow, see how world had changed around him in this past twenty years.<p>

"Did you fetch the good doctor Damon?"

"No sire I will after you are settled in your room."

"Do you think she would agree Damon? What will we tell her when she sees I heal as fast as I am cut?" Elijah's voice was anxious.

"She has a choice. To accept willingly or I can compel her." Elijah knew Damon's ruthlessness once he set his mind to something.

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><p>She jumped eagerly as lock of her door turned. She was dying from boredom from past hour and half. In came Damon Salvatore in all his sexy glory.<p>

He raised his eyebrow on her state of clothes. But he didn't say anything further about the said topic.

"Mr. Mikaelson will see you now doctor." He was almost formal in his statement.

"Hey do you think I could get something to eat, I am starved." She whined.

"It would be better if you eat after you see Mr. Mikaelson, Dr. Gilbert." He was sincere in his advice and Elena had no choice but to follow him. It was evening, the smell of spice and old books became prominent as she took the turn and entered another corridor richly decorated along the lines of her room. The paintings looked as if they were gracing walls of some Museum, the carpets spotless and woven intricately. Everything in this corridor was in shades of black and red. The floors were cool in comparison to her room which meant this wing housed a person on constant basis. She was lost in her thoughts when the sound of opening door broke her trance.

She entered a room that was furnished with every comfort imaginable to man. The walls were littered with paintings showing mythical creatures, castles and forests. Did this E. Mikaelson have fairy tale fetish?

One side of his room was completely glass and she could see a very beautiful garden from where she was standing. Ah, the joys money could buy.

The light in the room was adequate but placed at very bizarre angles so that they created a corner of shadow near the wall of glass. At first she had completely missed but there was a person sitting on chair in that corner. He was facing them but it looked he had hood over his face. Was he afraid that sight of his flesh would render her unconscious?

"Mr. Mikaelson?" her voice was uncertain.

"I am here Dr. Gilbert. Damon if you would?" his voice was deep and he had an accent which was a sort of blend of every language imaginable. She shivered when he spoke. It felt as if voice caressed her skin.

Damon Salvatore moved to switch on another light, one that illuminated the shadowy corner where Mr. Mikaelson sat.

The harsh whiteness showed his deep black robes in excellent detail. There was a thin lining of gold twined with silver along the borders. His face was still hidden beneath his hood. Did this guy need an invitation?

"Are you ready Dr. Gilbert?" there was his voice again messing with her mind again but what did he think, she was going to be horrified by his sagging jowls? She had pegged him for an old guy but his voice didn't sound like one. Okay so she was going to get a look on elusive E. Mikaelson's face at last.

She hummed her assent.

He didn't have creepy tilted eyes or sagging cheeks or broken nose. He didn't have face, period.

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><p>"Holy Jesus." She leaned over him, reaching for the mass of twisted scar tissue that covered the front of his misshapen skull. It was completely healed, and had covered his forehead, eyes, nose, cheeks, and chin. His hair was deep dark bronze but there were shades of pure white in it near his face like little snow on rich earth. He didn't have ears, and his mouth was a hole at the bottom.<p>

"What the hell happened to you?" she was shaken inside but she kept her voice steady.

"I had an accident, a terrible accident. It's a bit difficult to explain." She sensed pain in his voice and her heart twisted a bit in her chest. She knew it was no accident but a fate someone had awarded him. Who the hell could do something like this to a man?

She ignored the annoying way in which Damon Salvatore was hovering over her. She gently started to touch his raddled flesh to feel the imprecise bones beneath it. His eye sockets weren't empty, and there was no sign of epidermal hemorrhage or edema. No indication of any inflammation or infection, either; his twisted skin felt cool beneath her fingers. All she smelt was spice and something that was wholly him.

"You are not frightened by my appearance." The hole stretched if he was trying to smile.

"I have seen worse than this."She said but in fact she hadn't. She had never encountered injuries this extensive in her career. Compared to him Amy Bradley was a super model.

Her fingers told her he had suffered a very thorough facial smash of all the bones in the front of his skull, but the breaks were all different, as if he had been repeatedly thrown into a metal grate at various angles. And how had he escaped brain trauma? She'd never seen a patient with such injuries who had been allowed to heal like this.

"Mr. Mikaelson, am I the first surgeon to examine you?"

"No, there was another who said he could do nothing for me after throwing up on me." His ruined face emphasized on the beauty of his voice, the accent making it a symphony for her ears.

"So you are telling me that you have never been treated for these injuries?"

"It was not possible. As you can see for yourself I am a medical challenge." His voice sounded sad but amused as if he was recalling a private joke.

She performed a more thorough examination, surveying the map of ruin from the top of his cranium to the rather precise line at his throat where the scars abruptly ended. What her hands were telling her, however, couldn't be true.

"Mr. Mikaelson who did this to you sir?"

"I was severely beaten, many times over, and then subjected to… immersion in a corrosive liquid. I remained unconscious for some time, and when I awoke, my injuries had healed." His long fingers moved as he answered her, distracting her to the nth degree.

That he wasn't dead was a miracle, but what he was telling her didn't fit with his condition. Unless he had lain in a coma for months and had some unusual bone structure. Yet all Elena could find was solid intact bone structure that had healed and formed angles and dimensions that were stuff of nightmares.

"Are you sure no one operated on you Mr. Mikaelson?" Who would operate like this? A drunkard, a madman or a psychopath?

"Quite sure, you see it was only a week."

She snatched her hands away.

"I can't help you if you lie to me Mr. Mikaelson."

"I am not lying and call me Elijah. I have spontaneous healing abilities."

"And I can fly. Want me to give you a demonstration?" she scoffed.

"I knew you won't believe me. So watch and learn Dr. Gilbert." He said and took the dagger from Damon Salvatore's hand and plunged it in his palm.

Her hand snaked to grab his but Damon Salvatore held her hand in iron grip of his and released it only after there was a deep gash in Elijah's palm and blood ran down his fingers staining the pristine floor.

He was a madman trying to prove his barmy story. She took his hand in hers and before her own eyes the blood flow slugged and two sides of gash pulled, skin repairing itself until there was no trace of cut. She must be dreaming. The anesthesia hadn't left her system. That was the only reason she could procure for what her eyes had seen.

"Nice trick Elijah. What did you use? Fake dagger? Tomato ketchup?" she asked while examining his now healed palm.

"That was no trick Dr. Gilbert." He said while pressing the dagger in her hands, "you can try for yourself."

She examined the hand he had cut and then she took his other hand and made a shallow cut. And before her eyes the cut healed itself without a trace.

My god. Her head was spinning. She couldn't fathom the implication of what she had seen for herself. How could his tissues repair themselves so fastly? What was he?

"Who no, what are you?" her voice wasn't terrified, it was amazed, amazed at the miracle she had witnessed. A drop of his blood could heal victims like Amy Bradley, change lives of thousands.

"I am a victim of brutality and nothing else doctor." He stood and she could see his hard muscled chest where the robe had parted. Man oh man, he could be a romance cover model from face down and his face could be the poster for any horror slasher movie.

"Because of my ability I can't seek conventional help. Surgery was never an option for me before Damon read the article about you." He felt the space before him as if searching for something. She didn't know why she offered her hand but when he took it, it was as if the world had come to a standstill, the stars had twinkled, her heart had stopped for a moment, a very crucial moment.

Understanding donned on her, "that's why you brought me. You think I can operate fast enough. You think I can reconstruct your face, literally beat the clock. But what if I can't?" her voice wavered as if she didn't want to disappoint him.

"Then I'm afraid my face will be lost forever and I will become a permanent prisoner of this darkness that shields me yet confines me in its embrace…."

**So what do you think? Drop a comment and let me know. You can see the dress Elena was admiring on my profile or my twitter account ( EosBlaze). **

**Love ya guys.**

**Have a good day.**

**-Eos**


	4. Chapter 4

**I am extremely sorry for the time I took in updating this fic but I am thankful to every one of you who read and reviewed it. Knowing that someone appreciates my work makes the hard work I put in writing a pleasure. I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

But body, once enthralled,  
>wakes in the chains it wore,<br>Disheveled, stupid, cold,  
>and famished as before,<p>

and hears its paragon  
>Breathe in the ghostly air,<br>Anonymous carrion  
>Ravished by despair.<p>

And hear you moan at last  
>your pleasure in the deep<br>Haven of her who kissed  
>your blind mouth into sleep.<p>

-Love maker by Robert Mezey

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><p>Dr. Elena Gilbert couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that this guy could spontaneously heal. And she didn't know how the hell she was going to beat the clock and give him his face back. This was a challenge and Dr. Gilbert relished a challenge. All thoughts of him being weird, creepy and a psychopath flew away from her mind. She would do her damndest best to give him his face. Already ideas were swimming in her head and she was eager to try them after she gave him a preliminary exam.<p>

"Mr. Mikaelson, I will take you on as my patient but you will have to come to Chicago for the preliminary exam. I can assure you it will be in strictest confidence."

"I am sorry Dr. Gilbert but as I told you I won't be able to go to Chicago. You will have to operate on me here only." His voice was apologetic.

Couldn't this man understand that a doctor too needed tools of his trade? How the heck was she to check the degree of bone breakage and healing? By throwing a vase at Damon Salvatore's head?

"Unless you have a medical wing tucked up in your castle of death, it's gonna be impossible." She replied snappishly.

"Inform Damon whatever you need, it will be arranged."

"Beg your pardon Mr. Mikaelson these aren't things you can shop in Wal-Mart. I hope you understand that." She retorted.

The hole on his face stretched as if he was smiling.

"I don't shop at Wal-Mart, Dr. Gilbert." He was prompt in his answer.

She rolled her eyes at him and turned to give Damon the stink eye.

Her voice sent shivers along his spine just as the touch of her hands was unsettling him. What kind of a mortal was she? Her voice betrayed no disgust but curiosity, any fear but defiance. Who was this Elena Gilbert? He couldn't see her face but still her voice felt like finely aged wine laced with blood, felt as if she was slowly dissolving in his bloodstream. He didn't know what this night would bring for him and this Dr. Gilbert.

"You must have your dinner Dr. Gilbert. I have kept you long enough. We will resume our discussion after your meal."

"Stop right there scar face. We will talk right now. First, am I your prisoner Mikaelson?"

Of course that how she saw herself, as his prisoner. Not as his savior. How could she when all he had offered her was fear and he didn't have anything else to offer.

"Now if you would be kind enough to tell me what you need for the procedure Dr. Gilbert, I would be on my way to procure it." Damon Salvatore said.

"Stop right there Flash. We aren't done talking and I would repeat again, the equipment you need can't be bought on internet or supermarket so just chill and let me have a decent chat with scar face here." She stopped Damon Salvatore right in his tracks.

Elijah couldn't fathom how the hell she wasn't terrified by him. And really Scar face? How unoriginal Dr. Gilbert but he would give her points for her guts.

He heard the whoosh as Damon rushed towards Dr. Gilbert. Was Damon out of his mind? Terrifying her won't achieve results, nor would the show of their vampire traits...

Damon Salvatore looked deep in Elena Gilbert's eyes as her heart was a rhythm of sharp beats in her chest. He could smell her fear and he could feel the strength she exerted in holding his arms with all her might. Her grip could have bruised any human male but not him.

"You will answer my every question."

Her hold on him slacked and her eyes were a bit dazed.

"Now Doctor Gilbert would you be kind enough to give me a list of things you would need for this procedure?" Damon smirked.

* * *

><p>Elijah didn't like Damon's method but it had got the job done. Damon had escorted the doctor to her room last night and compelled her to get decent sleep. He could smell the night around him. Damon would be here with the doctor in an hour. This night might be the night when Elijah Mikaelson regained his face.<p>

* * *

><p>Elena sat down on the edge of the surgical table. All around her, diagnostic equipment hummed and<p>

Glass-paneled cabinets showed off shelves stocked with every conceivable instrument and medical supply. She stared at the portable lab and X-ray machine, their related processors, and the latest in alloplastic and autogenous grafting materials in refrigerated cases.

She stared up at Elijah. "This isn't equipment. This is a whole freaking field hospital."

Elena rolled over the portable X-ray and took a full head series. Luckily she still remembered how to develop the plates from her intern days. Once the films were developed, she placed them on a light table and studied the results.

The results were unspeakable.

Elijah got off the exam table and joined her. "What is it?"

"This could be your skull. I think." She pointed to the jagged contours of his distorted bones, and then remembered he couldn't see.

"Sorry. It looks like someone put a puzzle together with all the pieces jammed in the wrong places."

She glanced up at him. "How are you able to walk around like this without bumping into things?"

"I've always had an excellent proximity sense." He reached out and tapped the end of her nose with one finger.

"And your voice is very easy to follow."

The touch was casual, even friendly. But Elena didn't want to be friendly with Elijah. She wanted to be in Chicago.

"My mom always said she could hear me a block away." She surreptitiously rubbed her nose and then studied the films again. "I'll need to see any other X-rays of your head taken prior to the accident."

"There are none."

It wasn't her lucky night. "Okay, then I'll need to see a photograph of what you looked like before this."

He turned in the direction of their silent chaperone. "Damon, go bring the photo for Dr. Gilbert."

Damon disappeared, and then returned a few minutes later carrying the picture.

The face of the man in the photo was handsome, if a little cruel-looking around the mouth and eyes.

"Nice picture," Elena told Elijah, "this is gonna be a huge help. You will have to dye your hair if you wanna lose the Cruella De Ville effect. Now I only have to figure out a way to keep you from healing fast enough round my scalpel."

"Is there anything else you require?"

"Three surgical interns, four nurses, an anesthesiologist, a sterile environment, a blood bank, an ICU, two weeks to prepare and test the graft materials, and my head examined. You know. Just the little things." She didn't even hesitate.

"I will serve as your nurse," Damon said. "The alloplastic grafts are already prepared."

The bastard was seriously beginning to get on Elena's nerves. "I prefer to harvest my own grafts, thanks. Just what do you think _you _know about craniofacial reconstructive surgery, pretty face?"

"I know enough to hand you the correct instruments." He turned to Elijah. "Shall I set up the trays now, _master_?" Elijah nodded. "Dr. Gilbert, if you would prepare, please."

"Now?" Elena gaped at both of them. "I haven't even had time to check your blood work."

"That is not necessary. You have everything you need, and the skill to do the work." Elijah went back to the table. "We will do the rest."

"Hold on a goddamned minute," she demanded. "What if you die under the knife? What happens to me?"

"Whatever you do to me on that table, I will survive." There was a click behind her, and she turned to see Damon holding a large, ugly gun pointed at her head. Elijah shrugged out of his robe. "I cannot say the same for you if you do not begin preparations now."

Elena didn't argue with guns in her face, but she did make one final protest to Damon as they scrubbed. "I can't keep him anesthetized and do the cutting."

"That will not be a problem." He tugged on Elena's gloves for her like a pro. "Mr. Mikaelson does not require anesthesia."

Elena ripped the gloves off and threw them to the floor. "That does it. I'm outta here."

"_No you aren't_," Damon said, making a jabbing motion with his gun toward the operating table, where Elijah laid waiting.

"I can't operate on a conscious patient," she told them through gritted teeth. "He won't be able to stand the pain. He'll _fight _me."

Damon Salvatore simply cocked his gun. So this was staring death in the eyes. "I'm a doctor, not a butcher." Elena folded her arms. "I won't do it. Go ahead and shoot me."

"He will not move," Damon said, pulling out Elena's hands and putting fresh gloves on her. "He will enter a trance state, and remain in it until you are finished." She held out a mask. "You must trust us, Dr. Gilbert. We know what we are doing."

Damon gave Elena a nice little shove toward the table. She went along with it, figuring on getting a scalpel and slashing her way out of there. Yet when she checked Elijah, he appeared to be unconscious: heart rate and BP low, his breathing regular and steady. There were some doctors who advocated using hypnotism to put patients under for minor procedures, like wisdom teeth extractions. But she was going to reconstruct a man's _head_.

Damon unwrapped the instrument tray. "Shall we begin?"

Sweat ran down the back of Elena's gown, and her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't have held a suction tube. Despite Elijah's trance state, despite all of his assistant's reassurances, she knew it was wrong, and her body was rebelling.

"I'm sorry. This goes against everything I was taught as a doctor. Look at my hands." She showed them to the man. "Don't you see? If I try to cut him now, I'll kill him."

"Look in my eyes Doctor Gilbert."

"You have the ability," Damon murmured, "to make him whole again. You will do this. Your hands will not shake. You will help the master."

Elena's eyes widened as she watched her now rock-steady hand stretch out, and her own voice say, "Scalpel."

* * *

><p>Fear and doubt simply went away as she began to operate. Peeling back Elijah's scar tissue had to be done in sections, but she knew the severed blood vessels would seal off themselves and the flaps would heal out of place. Testing a theory, she created a tiny flap, watched it heal, and then abraded the underside of the flap and the foundation site. Once both sides were raw, she quickly pressed them back together. With his healing, the reattachment was almost instantaneous.<p>

"_Yes_," Elijah's assistant breathed.

"Shut up." With ruthless efficiency Elena sliced off Elijah's featureless face, pulled it out of the way, and began the work to repair the massive damage to his skull. Distorted bone stretched from his upper cranium down to the mandible, but his eyes were intact and the pupils reacted to light. His irises were a fascinating specimen, dark brown with the rim of gold. One part of her mind was screaming that he could see, hear, and definitely feel everything she was doing to him.

Something else kept her in RoboDoc mode.

Elena snapped out orders to Damon for instruments as her hands flew. The bone healed a little slower than his tissue, but still required her to operate at top speed. As she excised and grafted, she began to create new surfaces that meshed and hardened beneath her fingertips. It was more like sculpting marble than operating on bone. She rebuilt each zygomatic arch, each lateral orbital rim, and reinforced the nasion.

Once Elena had extended the length of his cheekbones and got to the upper mandible, she discovered two unusual bilateral abscesses in his upper palate that appeared to be congenital.

"He has two holes in the top of his mouth," she said as she probed them. "Was he born with a cleft palate?" From the wholesale scarring of his face it was impossible to tell if any had been there before. The man in the photo had no such defect.

"His _dents acérées_," Damon said. "You must not close them."

"Right." An invisible string made Elena's head bob, and she moved on to repair the damage to his jaw. The remnant part of her that had been shrieking to stop finally quieted. Which was good, because his jaw had been shattered and had healed over in five separate places? Collectively, a real bitch to put to rights. Once the bones were finished, she used the abridgment method to reattach Elijah's face and went to work erasing his facial scars.

Her patient never twitched a muscle.

Hours, days, or weeks later, she put the final tuck in one corner of Elijah's new mouth, waited for it to heal into place, and then set aside her scalpel.

"Give me some saline on a sponge." When the man handed it to Elena, she began wiping the blood and bits of bone from his newly healed skin. When his face was clean, she looked at her assistant.

"Well?"

"_Magnificent_." Damon's handsome face was deathly pale, and he looked ready to keel over.

"Doctor, we must bring him back to us. Call his name."

"Mr. Mikaelson—"

"Elijah."

"Elijah," Elena repeated dutifully.

The eyelids she'd remade for Elijah blinked, and then opened. The dark lashes springing from the eyelid follicles she'd recovered and reimplanted were a bit thick, but they framed his dark eyes nicely.

"It is over?" He sounded as tired as Elena felt.

"_Yes master_." Damon bowed his head.

Elijah gazed at Elena. "Do I look like the man in the photo?"

She should have been exhausted, grouchy, and ready to deck someone. "You look fine. Normal." _Gorgeous_. Elena, however, was about to drop, and not from fatigue. The voice in the back of her head was gone, and she had no idea how long she had been operating. Her stomach had constricted into a tiny knot, so she guessed at least twelve hours.

"_Thank you, Doctor_." Elijah sat up, swung his legs off the table, and gestured for Damon, who hurried over. His repaired facial muscles appeared to be working normally, but he was visibly trembling. "_I have to hunt_."

"You are too weak." Damon clamped his arm around Elena's waist and turned her towards him and looked deeply in her eyes. "Don't you agree, Dr. Gilbert?"

Dimly Elena wondered if someone had conked out her soul and put a puppet inside who agreed to whatever Damon Salvatore said.

"He should definitely rest for at least forty-eight hours." That was utter bullshit, but she needed to get the hell out of here, right now. "Can I go?" She wouldn't press charges. She'd just find a taxi and forget all of this ever happened. Or she thought she would, until she saw Elijah's eyes.

He couldn't look away from her, either. "_No_, Damon. She has done enough."

"She will not mind this one last service." He stroked Elena's dark curls. "Will you, Doctor?"

Elena couldn't reply; she was too absorbed by the changes in Elijah's eyes. She could have sworn that while she was operating on him that his eye color had been predominantly dark. But now those golden rims of his irises had expanded and darkened, as if they were trying to swallow up his pupils. Where were his pupils, anyway? Dark veins were visible round his eyes. Was this delayed reaction to trauma? Her heartbeat increased in fear, he looked like a monster.

"Good-bye, Doctor." Damon's voice sounded dim, distant. A door opened and closed. A lock engaged. Footsteps faded away. Elena didn't mind being alone with Elijah. The bastard, and quite possibly the world, had gone away. She could smell Elijah's scent now, and it was like his eyes, startling, changing. He smelled of spice, comfort and something she couldn't name. It pulled at Elena like invisible surgical staples being pried out of her chest and pelvis. His eyes seemed to be bottomless shafts of amber gold, stretching straight back through his skull into eternity, like those two strange abscesses she'd seen, incessant and inscrutable and swallowing up the light…

His hands were still shaking when he cradled Elena's face between them. "_Forgive me, dear_."

She didn't mind; he was very gentle. His breath crossed the short distance between their mouths, and the odd sweetness of it made her lips part. He was lisping a little, but maybe it was because he had grown two enormous fangs.

_Funny_. She frowned as strands of his white hair tickled her cheek. _I don't remember giving him those_.

Then he turned her face to one side, and his fangs sank in her jugular.

**Cliffhanger. Please don't kill me. I promise this is going to be good. So what do you think of this chapter? Review below and let me know. Stay tuned for the next chapter of 'The Burned Angel'.**

**-Eos**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks a lot for the review guys. Really appreciate it. Thank you to everybody out there who invested his/her valuable time in reading this. I don't own Vampire Diaries but I wish I owned Elijah.**

**To afan:**

**Doesn't matter whether you are French, American, English or Canadian. You read it and left me a review, which is more than enough. Thanks a lot for the appreciation. :)**

**To shary:**

**I totally agree with you there and thanks a lot for the review. :)**

**To guest:**

**Well I might let Elena kick Damon's ass but first she has to survive her transition. My vamps are a bit different than the show and thanks a lot for the review. :)**

**To my readers:**

**You might feel a bit confused in this chapter but I wanna clarify that my fic vamps are different from the show and so is the way of their transition. Hope you enjoy.**

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><p>Chapter Five<p>

Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation,

Darkness stirs and wakes imagination,

Silently the senses abandon their defenses

Slowly, gently night unfolds its splendor,

Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender

Turn your face away from the garish light of day,

Turn your thoughts away from the cold unfeeling light,

And listen to the music of the night

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you

Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you,

Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness that you know you can't fight,

The darkness of the music of the night…

-Music of the Night by Gerard Butler

* * *

><p>Elena Gilbert knew she was dreaming because nothing this grand and majestic could exist in reality. This place seemed from out of time and out of this harsh world. Here the colors were vibrant not garish, here air smelled of lavender and spice not of blood, here she was wearing gown which she generally never did if she had all her senses in her control.<p>

She was alone in the sea of good looking people who could be Hollywood a-listers or models in an enchanting ballroom. Here people weren't disfigured; their lives weren't touched by the hate of others. Here they danced and laughed as if they were celebrating but what could they be celebrating?

**They are celebrating my return**, his voice was a feast for her senses, a bouquet of fantasies. She turned and there he was standing among so many others and still he looked so alone, somewhat vulnerable to her eyes.

_Adonis_, perfection she thought. His face was in shadows but still he was flawlessness incarnate. He was in robes, black like the night that reined outside the walls of this place. A sliver of moonlight illuminated part of his face and fell reverently on his bare torso. Hard muscles peeked from behind the cloth that shifted against his skin.

Her eyes went roaming back to his face, the sharp chiseled cheekbones, mouth that she wanted to kiss till oblivion, strong jaw line that was begging to be licked and straight nose that enhanced his aristocratic features. His dark hair was pure white near his face. He looked like a lord of the manor. But wait, why did he look so familiar? What was his name, Elias, Emilio, Eli-something? Why was her memory doing cartwheels?

Suddenly a weasel came near her out of nowhere. But surprisingly this weasel had face of human, quite handsome but she knew in her heart that he was a complete bastard. His name was Damon, she was certain.

You are another casualty human, a no one in grander scheme of things. He hissed.

_Back off egg sucker and watch your mouth_. She snarled.

**Leave her be Damon**, Adonis's voice was stern.

**Come with me**, Adonis's hand was extended in invitation. The brain advised caution where as heart whispered spontaneity. Torn between head and heart Elena Gilbert accepted his invitation.

And just like that they were in bed, lying side by side staring at each other trying to figure what they were going to talk about. This silence wasn't awkward or uncomfortable; they were content in the stillness that was in and around them.

_So is any of this real_? She asked.

**Well technically no but doesn't mean it's not real**. The playful gleam in his eyes made her giggle. She fucking giggled. This was definitely a dream otherwise she was no giggler in her waking hours, no sir she was not.

**Will you let me kiss you, Elena**? His eyes were earnest.

_Sure_. She mumbled and later before his lips descended on hers she cringed in her head. Sure? She was so out of her league here.

His lips fit perfectly with hers, caressing her softly, deftly with intensity that spoke of sadness and yearning.

Just few more minutes and you are going to be food human. The damn weasel popped in again.

The Adonis nuzzled her neck making her warm and tingly all over. His lips kept playing the sensual sonata on her neck while her hands were in his hair. He was lying on top of her, that godly face framed by the halo of white hair stared at her. Why did he look so familiar? Had she worked on his face? Had she given him that regal nose, that beautiful Satan's mouth? For he could be no angel with eyes like blood, the dark veins around his crimson orbs were visible. He was her dark angel.

_Beautiful_, she said.

He kissed her again. This time he wasn't gentle, there was urgency in his passion. His hand wandered down to cradle her breast, fingers gently flicking the nipple. This made rubbing against his arousal easy.

This time when his mouth left wet kisses on her neck, they were accompanied with sharp prickle of pleasure which was associated with heat. She couldn't feel her legs. It looked like she was going to overdose on pleasure.

Her throat hurt but his kisses were distracting.

_What are you doing to me_? She asked.

He rolled them so that she was on top. There was outrage in his eyes but she could see the loneliness beneath. **I am killing you Elena**, he said.

If this was death then it was a beautiful way to go. She touched his mouth, her fingers tracing his lips. _Okay but could you love me a little first?_ She said.

His fingers made a fist in her hair, and he pressed his mouth to her brow, so hard she could feel the sharp edges of his teeth. His voice spilled over her, fast and furious, in the language she didn't understand, and then he was kissing her again. Not on the mouth, but on the eyelids and nose and chin and ear, everywhere he could reach, mapping her face with his lips. He reached down between them, tearing at the front of her gown, and then he was between her legs, pressing against her, the tip of his cock disappeared inside her. She wanted him inside. Wanted him all over her, if possible. Could you wear a man like a leotard?

Another man, this one younger than Adonis and dressed in skin tight jeans and button down materialized from nowhere.

_**You are killing her Elijah.**_ He tried to pry Adonis away from her. He was good looking but not like Adonis. He looked like he was possibly 20 or 21. He grabbed Elena again and tried to throw away Adonis as if he were some leech.

_**You do not want to do this; you swore after Tatia's death you won't kill any human during feeding. You took a vow, you gave a promise.**_ The junior, less gorgeous version of Adonis reasoned.

**I can't stop myself**, Adonis's growl was feral.

Something went terribly wrong. The numbness in her throat spread out all over her body, turning her into a mannequin, her muscles rigid, her limbs unbending. The delicious pressure between her legs vanished as the miniature Adonis hit Adonis and tore her away from him.

Adonis fell on his knees, his chest heaving, and his face full of agony.

She wanted to tell him that she was sorry but why was she sorry again? She wanted to sooth him, say something funny to ease off that haunted look on his face but she couldn't see anything anymore. She couldn't breathe anymore. Just a moment before she sank in unconsciousness she felt a mouth cover hers.

**You must breathe Elena.** It was the Adonis again, pouring his breaths into her.

If he wanted her to breathe, why was he on top of her? Even supported in the cradle of her spread thighs, he weighed a ton. He sealed his lips over hers and breathed for her again, making her chest lift until her breasts were almost mashed against his chest. Behind him, the junior Adonis stood looking like a gravestone maker about to write her obituary.

Well, obviously they weren't going to have sex now, thanks to the killjoy junior Adonis, so why was he still watching?

Maybe because she was dying. Elena knew she was dying. She could feel her heart labouring, her pulse slowing. It was too bad she couldn't speak; she might have instructed him on how to perform CPR properly. But Adonis was busy doing something to his arm…biting off his flesh. A line of crimson ran down his fingers.

Now this was utterly stupid, why the hell was he biting his arm? And were his teeth sharp as blades to pierce the skin?

**Elena, look at me**, he said.

She focused on those angry, empty hazel eyes as Adonis climbed off her body and knelt beside her. God, his eyes were so gorgeous, topaz like dark sun encased in glass that it should have hurt him to look out of them. His eyes would be the very last thing she saw in this life. That was fine with her.

The weasel Damon jumped up next to Elena and peered into her face. If it bit her on the nose, she was going to use the last of her strength to strangle it.

You waste yourself on her. The weasel told Adonis.

Suddenly junior Adonis kicked away the weasel.

_**Get out**_. He sounded completely ticked off.

Elena didn't feel any optimism. All she felt was her life slipping away. Another minute and her brain cells would start to die. Would she walk into that infamous, end-of-the-tunnel light that so many patients who had been revived from clinical death claimed to have seen? Would Jeremy and Aunt Jenna miss her? Would Miranda be there, waiting for her?

_Mom'll probably nag_ _me for my near naked state and then she will proceed towards awkward questions like was he using condom?_

Okay so was he using condom? Well now it really didn't matter. She was gonna be dead in couple of minutes and after all they hadn't fucked. So problem solved.

Adonis held his bitten arm to her lips. **Drink Elena, drink.** He said.

Was he mental? She was dying, she wasn't imbecile. Why the fuck would she drink his blood?

She turned her head away. But he forcibly made her suck the blood. He put his hand behind her head and curled his fingers in her hair.

She gagged, the blood tasted gross. But he was adamant. **You must drink please.** He supplicated.

_**You know it has never worked for you Elijah. You have never been able to turn anyone apart from me in your thousand years of existence. I don't know the reason but you are killing her Elijah. I don't think this will work. Your blood is poisoning her.**_ Junior Adonis said.

**It will work. It has to Kol. I can't just let her die**. Adonis shouted.

Elijah? His name sounded familiar.

She didn't want to spit in his face but now the taste of his blood had changed to plain disgusting and it couldn't be swallowed. It was slowly filling up her throat and cutting her air. She tried to swallow, but the muscles beneath her jaw had locked up or frozen. She didn't have enough air left to, choke. Hair separated from her scalp as she wrenched her mouth away to cough.

Elena heard the last of her air burst from her lungs in an agonized scream.

Beautiful hands framed her face; fingers closed her stretched, open mouth. A garnet sun rose covering her world in bright fury, just like her ablaze body.

Pain tore her insides apart and she screamed a devastating plea for mercy. She could feel wetness on her cheeks, it felt like blood but smelt like tears.

Before she slipped in that eternal darkness, forever lost, she heard her Adonis's voice, begging and pleading in desperation.

**Live for me….**

* * *

><p><strong>So what did you think? Review below and let me know. Stay tuned for the next chapter of the 'Burned Angel'.<strong>

**Love you all.**

**-Eos**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks a lot for the review guys. You made my day. I don't own Vampire Diaries. To all hose readers who were confused by last chapter I hope this chapter provides explanation.**

**To Guest:**

**Thanks for the review. :)**

**To afan:**

**Thank you for loving my story. :)**

**To Shary and TVDLover:**

**I hope this chapter clears your confusion and thanks for the reviews. :)**

* * *

><p>Chapter Six<p>

Well I never pray,

But tonight I'm on my knees,

I need to hear some sounds,

That recognize the pain in me.

-Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve

* * *

><p>Elijah Mikaelson knew the danger of ecstasy that vampire venom produced in humans. He had firsthand experience on what happened when a vampire fed after starvation. He knew the dreams that blood hunger induced in both predator and prey. Long time ago Tatia had been casualty of this blood hunger. The love of his brother Klaus's life, and Elijah had ended her as easily as night follows the day, as swiftly as the moon replaces the sun. He had crushed that fragility in moments and her blood had not only colored his lips a dark red but had also painted his heart black as the multitude of his sin.<p>

He had vowed on her broken body he would never take another human life while feeding. He had taught himself control, had hid behind it like a coward. Maybe he had loved Tatia a long time ago but now she was only a reminder of how pathetic and vulnerable Elijah Mikaelson had been once long ago.

He had never made the mistake of thinking himself immune to the dark dance between vampire predator and human prey again. He strictly avoided losing control, in the same way he avoided fire, vervain, white oak and anything that would separate his head from his neck. His mistake was in assuming that control was wholly mental and not physical.

It had been necessary to abstain from blood to submerge himself in deep niches of his mind for the operation. It was the same technique he had applied when he had been captured and tortured. Yet the effort it took to remain in that semiconscious state until she finished had pushed him into a realm of need he had not experienced after the torture or in several centuries of his existence.

Seeing Elena for the first time brought it all home. How stunned Elijah had felt, to open his eyes to the sight of her standing before him in her bloodstained gown. Damon had told him that she was small, but he had said nothing about the impartial flawlessness of her curves. Not a word about the willowy line of her throat, the sweet rise of her full breasts, or the elegant lyre of her hips. Not a syllable about the grace of her hands with their clever, slender fingers.

The hands that had remade his face, given him his eyes.

The top of Elena's head barely reached his chin. And as he had looked down on her, the light coaxed a thousand glints of gold and red in the loose crown of her dark hair. Renaissance painters would have adored her hair, her eyes; although they were so plainly brown that they should have seemed mundane. Perhaps the tranquil seemliness and terrible understanding in her eyes fascinated him. Even her mouth, with its petal-soft curves that brought the ache of other hungers, could not distract him from her eyes.

That had been another mistake and he had known when his scent had started rolling off from his skin. No one knew what produced this ingenious individual intoxicating scent of vampires but once his body took control; there was little he or his prey could do to resist it.

She had been his for taking even before he had risen from his operating table.

Yet by the time Elijah realized what was happening, it was too late. She called him, he looked upon her, and the deadly dance had begun. He had never fought ecstasy, but he had never realized it brought hungers so exquisitely excruciating that they all but tore him to pieces.

The feel of her blood in his mouth, the tear of flesh, the warm gush of blood. He knew it would kill her as he made it happen. He had filled himself with her, leading her down in blood dreams where slowly the dance between vampire and prey ended.

The guilt and outrage made these dreams unbearable and he refused to let her die.

Elena dwindled, leaving him alone in the dreams. Elijah had not lain enraptured since he had first risen as Vampire, so it took him some time to fight his way out. There was also the fear of what he would find when he awoke.

She saved me; did I kill her for it?

Elijah closed his newly restored eyes as he recalled what he had done to her. Despite his orders, Elena had been left alone with him. When Kol had wrenched them apart, clarity returned, enough to drive Elijah mad. He recalled pouring his blood over the gaping wound in her neck, then ripping into his arm and forcing his blood down her throat.

Why had he done that? His blood poisoned every human being exposed to it. He had told her that.

_I am killing you, Elena_.

_Could you love me a little first_?

It struck him like a fist. She had asked for love, and he had given her death. And then a new, stronger wave of bloodlust had come over him again, and he had struck a second time.

Live for me. He had shouted at her when Kol had pulled him away. Over and over.

In his enraptured state he had convinced himself that his blood could save her, that she unlike others would survive but all his blood had done was to poison her.

She had saved him and he had killed her for it.

When he emerged from his blood dreams into the waking world, he opened his eyes second time since his capture.

_Eyelids. I have eyelids again_. He used his restored vision to tear the curtains from his bed before climbing out of it.

"Kol?"

"Here, brother." His brother held out his robe. He donned his pants and stalked right past him. Colors and shapes whirled. World was again in focus and sight. He could see what he had been denied from past 20 years.

"Where is she?" He could still hear her choking, the soft, distressed sound of it hissing in his ears.

"Upstairs? How badly did I hurt her?" Perhaps it was not as terrible as he remembered. Rapture played tricks on the mind, turning the real into the surreal.

"She is gone, brother." Kol followed him up the stairs.

"Damon is down in dungeons. He is to starve for two months."

Elijah halted and turned around. "This less?"

"He fears what you will do to him. He is ashamed of his behaviour." Kol explained what had happened, how Damon had locked Elena in alone with Elijah.

"Had I known what he planned, I would have stopped you, or killed him."

Elijah dropped into the nearest chair and held his head in his hands. Rage pounded behind his eyes, eyes that Elena Gilbert had reopened with her bright heart as much as her skilled hands.

"Is it as I remember? Did I take her?"

"Yes." Kol rubbed his temple. "When I came, you were deep in ecstasy, and the doctor was…" He shook his head.

Elena. Now that he could actually see her face, it would remain only in his memories. Guilt became a beast, tearing at him with hot, angry claws.

"What did you do with the body?"

"She is not dead." Kol took a step back. "Not yet."

"_What _did you say?" Elijah came out of the delicately carved chair so violently that the scrolled armrest snapped off.

"She lives." His brother produced a fax.

The report, faxed from Chicago by Trevorwho had first brought Dr. Elena Gilbert to his attention was concise but complete. The doctor had been found by the authorities—found alive—in a restroom at O'Hare Airport. She had been transported to a local hospital, where she was admitted to intensive care. Her condition was still listed as serious.

Elijah read it three times, but shock made him unable to calculate the time lapse. "This came in today?" His brother nodded. "How long have I been in rapture?"

"The operation left you weak, and I thought it necessary—"

"How long?" Elijah shouted.

"Five days, brother." Kol ducked his head.

"She was dead when she left the dreams. _She was not breathing_." The report crumpled in his fist, and fell in a loose ball to bounce on the floor.

"I, too, thought this." His brother looked sick. "I had the men take her back to Chicago. I told them to leave her body where it could be found. I thought for her family's sake. She has a brother, an aunt, maybe a lover—"

Elijah backhanded Kol, knocking him into the wall. It was not enough, but he won't allow himself to beat his brother unconscious. Instead, he walked through the house and out to his garden. The sun was setting, and the last of its rays delicately gilded hundreds of blooming white roses. He found one of the little wrought iron benches and sat down, staring at nothing as his mind tried to grasp what had happened.

Elijah had lived as vampire since his human death in the tenth century. Human blood was his only nourishment, but over time he had learned that he did not have to kill. Taking small amounts of blood allowed him to survive, and held off the madness of rapture and the mind-destroying rhapsody it induced in his victims. It also preserved the lives of the humans upon whom he fed, for he had to drain a body of all its blood to satisfy rapture.

Tatia had been his first and last, his one and only mistake.

"She should have died five days ago," he told Kol, who had followed him out. "I took her. I gave her the rapture and I took her." He could still taste her. "Or was it all an illusion?"

"No, Elijah."

If his attack had not destroyed her body, then the rapture would erase her mind. He looked at his brother, who was wiping the last traces of blood from his nose. "I should not have struck you. Forgive me."

"It is nothing." And it was. Like him, Kol healed instantly.

"I don't understand." He regarded his roses, and realized he could read again. Elena had not only restored his vision; she had given him back his books.

"How can she still be alive?"

"I do not know, Brother."

Why had she not transitioned to vampire? She must have been ravenous for blood, so how come there were no reports on public massacre because from what he knew it was quite difficult to contain your bloodlust. She was the first to survive his blood in his entire existence. What had that blood done to her?

There were no answers to these questions in Trevor's report. He had to go to Chicago. If she was human when he reached Chicago he would leave her to live her mortal life. One nightmare was enough for her. She didn't need to see his face to remember what he had done with her, almost fucked her while she had been seduced by the rapture he had dragged her into.

But if she transitioned, she was his. His blood had created her and he owned her, heart, body and soul.

For her sake he prayed that she remained mortal because being bound with a heartless killer like him, a man who had almost raped her, he couldn't even imagine the degree of pain she would suffer.

He knew there were much pressing matters like the search for his brother Klaus and his sister Rebekah but he had to go to Chicago.

He owed Elena Gilbert that courtesy along with 10 million dollars, the payment of her services rendered.

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><p><strong>So what do you say? What is Elijah going to find in Chicago? Review below and let me know. Till then stay tuned for the next chapter of 'Burned Angel.'<strong>

**Love ya all**

**-Eos**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for being late. It has been rough couple of weeks. I lost my friend F and it has been a very bumpy road of memories and guilt. There were a lot of unresolved issues and I wish we had more time. Thanks to all you lovely people who read and reviewed, gave me a reason to smile in these difficult times. This chapter especially goes to Darkangelmi818. She reminded me that us Elejah shippers can't tolerate Haylijah (I simply hate it.) and we need constant Elejah dose. **

**Did I leave anything? Ah yes, as usual I don't own Vampire Diaries. **

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><p>Chapter seven<p>

You're the light, you're the night  
>You're the color of my blood<br>You're the cure, you're the pain  
>You're the only thing I wanna touch<br>Never knew that it could mean so much, so much

You're the fear, I don't care  
>'Cause I've never been so high<br>Follow me through the dark  
>Let me take you past our satellites<br>You can see the world you brought to life, to life

So love me like you do, lo-lo-love me like you do  
>Love me like you do, lo-lo-love me like you do<p>

-Love me like you do by Ellie Goulding

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><p>Elena Gilbert squeezed her eyes as soon as she opened them. Everything screamed foreign and unknown. She moved her eyes to take in her new surroundings. Pale walls, blue tile, beige plastic curtains hanging from a curved groove in the popcorn ceiling. No flowers, no cards, a dozen portable monitors.<p>

An inpatient room, not surgical, though.

She could see through the curtains into the next room, where an elderly woman lay unconscious and

breathing off a respirator.

_Intensive care. What am I doing here_?

"April?" she croaked.

"Huh?" Narrow black eyes flared wide before she jumped up from the chair beside the bed and grabbed Elena's hand.

"You're awake—oh, dear God, I told them you were too tough, damn it." Her office manager burst into tears.

Every part of her body hurt; her arms, her legs, and her back. Damn even her scalp hurt and her hair felt as if somebody had attached a bagful of stones with them, her eyelashes felt like they were burning lava closing over her eyes.

She felt too weak, as in fragile as glass weak. She was alarmed at her situation and then she discovered she couldn't lift or move her head from side to side. Her hand was tethered by an

IV, the needle of which stung when she flexed her fingers to squeeze April's.

"'Sallright, April."

"Elena, my god what happened to you?"

"Don't know."

She had no idea how she had ended up in ICU, and when she analyzed her condition internally she felt grateful to be even alive. She closed her eyes and held on to April Young's hand, drawing strength and warmth from it.

"I'm gonna be fine."

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><p>Three nurses and Matt Donovan were in her room couple of minutes later after she woke up. He looked haggard and there were dark circles beneath his eyes as if he hadn't slept. She focused on his lanky, tall frame with angry eyes. He looked wrong without that gentle compassionate smile on his face.<p>

He sent April out and examined her himself.

She answered his questions but by the time he pulled her hospital gown over her breasts she had quite few of her own.

"Was there an accident? Why am I here? Did something happen to me?"

"You were brought in last night, unconscious and missing three pints of blood." He jerked his stethoscope from his ears and let it dangle from his neck.

"Who did it? Where did he take you? Did you see his face?"

She shook her head. "Can't remember. Everything's all a big blank."

"You have to." Matt dropped down and took her hands in his.

"You disappeared a week ago. They didn't find you till yesterday when some lady tripped over you in a restroom at airport."

"Any wounds?" she asked. His words painted a pretty dubious and terrorizing picture.

"No injuries. We did a rape kit, but no signs of intercourse. Not a scratch on you, not even a needle mark." He bent over and brushed his mouth over hers. Tears fell from his eyes and made wet spots on her forehead and cheek before he gathered her up against him. "Jesus, Lena, Jesus. I thought I was going to lose you."

His fierce embrace made her want to wiggle away but she let him pour out his terror. Surprisingly she didn't feel any fear of her own, maybe it was the combination of blood loss and weakness.

None of her colleagues or Matt could explain how she had bled to death without having a needle mark on her body. Her memory wasn't helping either, full of holes as it was. She didn't remember anything apart from leaving her practice last day and opening her eyes to the bareness of the ICU.

Thank to the heavens that Matt hadn't called Aunt Jenna, Jeremy or Caroline.

"I am gonna sit with you for the night after my rounds." Matt was intent that she needed protection but she persuaded him to let her be.

"Stop Worrying. I survived."

"That I can't do Lena. I will see you in morning on my way to the rounds."

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><p>She was discharged an hour later after her countless tantrum. Matt drove her to home. After he left she switched off the lights and sat in dark. It was rather perturbing, her lack of hysteria over her condition. Anyone who had gone through what she had was titled to a breakdown but she sat unmoving in the dark, waiting for something, anticipating something.<p>

She was forgetting something vital, something very important and however hard she tried, she came up with nothing. It was as if somebody had deliberately stolen a part of her memory. But that wasn't possible, was it?

He came two hours after Matt left.

The man at her door had one of the most regal looking faces. His hair was longer than conventionally men wore; the ones near his face were pure white emphasizing on his sharp featured face.

Did she know him? 'Cause he seemed remarkably familiar.

"Hello" she said.

"Good Evening, Dr. Gilbert." His voice was hypnotizing in its wake with slight accent she couldn't place.

"May I come in?" Did she know him?

She must have invited him to meet her but had forgotten.

"Sure."

The smell of spice and roses grew thick in air and she wondered if he used a cologne that was a perfect blend of these two. He was carrying a bag, looked branded Italian by make. It didn't go with his Armani tuxedo and Gucci shoes. He looked rich and smelt like it too.

"This is yours." He said.

Was he crazy? She wasn't rich enough to throw her hard earned cash into frivolities like Italian handmade bags. That was Caroline's forte.

"No, it isn't. I don't remember purchasing the bag."

He smiled, as if he had anticipated her response.

"What I mean Dr. Gilbert is that I brought it for you."

"Why would you do that? I don't need it. Do I know you?" she was really confused.

"So many questions Dr. Gilbert. Which ones do you want me to answer first?" his voice contained a hint of mockery and that really irritated her.

"Well let's clear the confusions first. You obviously know me but I am in predicament here 'cause even though it feels like I know you, if don't. So who are you?"

"You know me Doctor. After all you were the one who gave me my face back." His voice was a whisper as if this was something he didn't want to confess and if her hearing wasn't this sharp, she wouldn't have been able to hear it.

"I operated on you? When was this?"

He whirled around as if electrocuted. There was surprise and perplexity evident in his eyes.

"You heard me? How can that be? You haven't transitioned, you are still human."

"And you aren't?" she mocked. This guy was even crazier than her if he thought he was something other than human.

"I apologize Doctor; I should have taken care of your fragile state. Are you all right?" he sounded contrite.

Maybe this man too had suffered some harsh ordeal lately and that was reflected on his face. And if she really had operated on him recently than that could explain that worried expression on his face. But why couldn't she remember exactly when and where she had seen him or operated on him? Why was her brain suffering from selective amnesia?

"I am fine or at least going to be. It's a very long story." She added in response to his raised eyebrows.

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><p>She was an enigma. Why hadn't she transitioned? And more importantly how was she alive? Nobody had survived the direct contact of his blood in millennia's then how was she standing here and why were her eyes full of compassion instead of anger? If she wasn't dead then she should have transitioned, she should have remembered his heinous deed. She should have remembered how she had paid for her kindness with her blood.<p>

Her expectant pose reminded him that he still hadn't said anything.

He knew he had told Kol that if she didn't remember anything he would leave her be, let her go on as she desired but here in her proximity it was very hard to just let her go. It was his blood running in her veins. He could smell the scent of roses with cinnamon and sandalwood coming from her. He didn't wanna let her go and yet his word was his honor, his promise. He couldn't go back on his word but he could influence her choice.

He would pretend to give her a choice when in reality she won't have any. He had decided. This was what he desired and it was past time when he took something for himself.

"I know Elena. I am a part of it."

* * *

><p>Why was this man looking at her like that? He had evaded her question, hadn't told her his name and now he was coming towards her with something close to longing and determination on his face. Was he some mob boss she had helped? Or some psycho who thought himself to be in love with her?<p>

He was very close, close enough that she could see the thick lashes that swept his regal cheekbones. There was a hunger buried just beneath his skin, ruthless brutality in those hands that were touching her jugular with something akin to reverence and craving. Warmth spread in her skin and she trembled.

"Who are you?" she hated herself for that vulnerable tremble in her voice.

"It time Elena. Remember me, remember New Orleans." His lips touched the shell of her ear as he whispered in his enchanting baritone.

Memories punched through the bewildering lassitude, vicious and unforgiving as they flooded into her head. She would have fallen on her ass if the man had not caught her.

_Mr. Mikaelson is in great need-_

_Your boss had me kidnapped-_

_Is he a man stuck in wrong body? Does he need gender correction-_

_Elijah-_

_The smell. The touch of his hands. The brush of his skin against hers._

_I am killing you, Elena-_

_Forgive me-_

_Could you love me a little first-_

Pain slammed into Elena's head, making her reel. In a heartbeat, she knew everything: the abduction, the castle in New Orleans, the terribly scarred man, the illegal surgery she'd been forced to perform. And something worse. Something so horrifying that it couldn't have happened outside of a nightmare. But it had.

_Live for me-_

His lips had felt soft, but the top of his mouth had been pushed back. His voice had been gentle, but he'd looked like a maniac, an animal. Coming at her with his teeth bared. No, not teeth. No human being's teeth ever came sliding out like ivory daggers, like a snake's did just before it struck, and he had used them on her—Elena remembered that, too. He had opened his mouth and used them to—

"Be calm, Elena." His hands cupped her cheek.

She jerked away from his hands. She knew him all right. Elijah Mikaelson, the sick son of a bitch who had torn out her throat. With his teeth.

"You stay away from me." She jerked away, banging into a chair and nearly falling again. She began shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering. "Wh-wh-what did you do? How did you make me forget it all?"

"It was something that was necessary at that moment." His eyes were bright in his grave, perfect face. Face that she had made for him.

"My people shouldn't have brought you like this. I am sorry."

"You are sorry?" rage pounded in her veins, adrenaline mixed with anger rushed in her arteries. "After what you did? You just-" she touched the side of her throat; the skin was smooth and unbroken.

"I remember you doing it. Biting me, tearing my skin." But there were no scars, no wounds. Nothing.

"I did." He took couple of steps towards her.

"Where?" She couldn't stop prodding her neck or backing away from him. "You didn't stitch me up. I can't feel anything, not even scar tissue. How did you make me think that?" A horrendous thought occurred to her. "Did you use drugs on me?"

"You were wounded, and I… helped you. My kind, we have ways to heal. It's just that no one…" He seemed to realize he was scaring the daylights out of her, and stood still. "Elena, I will not hurt you."

"Like the last time?" If she hadn't been so terrified, she would have slapped his mouth off. "You're a monster."

"I am." A look of pain came on his face but was gone in an instant.

"Still, I am not so different from your other patients." He circled around her. "You operate on abnormal structures of the body, to improve function and approximate a normal appearance. In repairing the damage to my face, you restored my identity."

She couldn't look away from his eyes. They were dark now, but she remembered how they had dilated into those terrible, twin pits of amber hell.

_Don't look at him_.

"What are you on?" she demanded, fixing her gaze on a point past his head. "Did you give it to me?"

"No, I—it is too complicated to explain." He shook his head. "You must make a choice now. You can come back to New Orleans with me now, and I will provide for you. Or you can stay here and live your life as it was, but you must never speak of this to anyone."

He'd kidnapped her, imprisoned her, drugged her, made her believe he could heal spontaneously and that she had operated on him, on top of the delusion that he had torn out her throat, and he wanted her to make that entire doctor patient privileged?

"Get the fuck out of my house."

"We must settle this first. I owe you everything. Had it not been for your skills, I would not be able to function normally." He raised an elegant hand.

He was still trying to sell her this bullshit. _What kind of drugs is he on_? _Is he on them now_? _Did he come here to finish it_? She couldn't keep her hand away from her neck.

"Your normal function being, what? Kidnapping and drugging women? Keeping them prisoner?"

"No, but I must bring them to me, so I can feed."

_Feed_? She instantly flashed on Silas Sylvan, the serial killer who had murdered and then consumed portions of his victims' bodies. Mother of God, he was like Sylvan, and she had helped him.

She could hardly make her lips shape the revolting word. "You're a cannibal?"

"No. I only take blood from them."

"You _drank _my _blood_?" Of course he had. With his incredible ability to heal, he'd probably read Anne Rice and watched _Buffy _and deluded himself into thinking he wasn't human. Some cities even had nightclubs for crackpots like him.

"You think you're a vampire, don't you?"

"_Upir, Vampyras_. It is almost the same." He shrugged, but his gaze never left her face.

Elena was back on-familiar ground now. As a resident, she had done a rotation in a psychiatric hospital. There she had first observed various types of psychosis. Although Elijah had kidnapped her, attacked her, and drugged her to believe all sorts of crazy things, she was in control now.

Elijah, on the other hand, was a very, very sick man.

"Elijah." Using a calm, reasonable tone took every ounce of nerve she had left. "I think you and I should go for a ride. There's a very good friend of mine I'd like you to meet. He's a terrific guy, and he can help you so that you won't have to bear this by yourself anymore."

"I am not mad, Elena." He studied her for a moment. "Without my features and my sight, I could not function. You gave me back my purpose. I was—I am—in your debt, and I have repaid you poorly."

She'd given him the ability to hunt women again, which despite all her clinical objectivity was really going to make her puke, any second now.

"No problem, I'll bill you." She had to get him over to the hospital, where he could be locked up in a nice, safe psychiatric ward until the police could be called. "Or you could pay me back by coming and meeting my friend. He works at the same hospital that I do."

"You'll really like him." The grin on her face felt stretched and ghastly.

"I never meant to call you to rapture. My need was too great, and we were left alone. I was only able to stop before I killed you because…" He trailed off as if not sure about that part.

_Rapture_?

Elijah was nuttier than a pecan tree in full bloom. "You stopped this time—that's the important part. I'll swear to that." Oops, maybe not a good idea to mention testifying at his trial.

He gave her a decidedly annoyed look. "You must never tell anyone about this. Because you survived, your life is in danger. No one has survived direct exposure to my blood, not in thousand years, not since Kol. By some miracle you have I wish I could shout it to the world, but no one can ever know this about you. No one must ever know that I gave you my blood."

Oh, God, was she the only one who had gotten away? It was too much for her; she had to get him out of her house and bolt the door and call every police officer in the city. She would need them to surround the house if she was ever going to feel safe again.

_Get out the words. Sound sincere_. "Yes, of course. I won't tell anyone."

He nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Are you going back to your home in New Orleans now?" Should she try to get his address?

If he was crazy enough to believe she'd keep quiet, that she was some sort of bizarre accomplice in this, maybe he would give it to her. If not, April had likely kept the letterhead. Either way.

"No, I will stay here until I am sure you are well." Elijah Mikaelson took a card from his pocket and dropped it on the table beside the briefcase. "I can be reached at this number. Goodbye."

She didn't breathe until the door closed behind him. Then she ran for the phone and bumped into the coffee table on the way. The bag bounced to the floor, where the weight of it caused the simple snap locks to pop open. She didn't have to count the stacks of money that fell out to know how much there was.

Ten million dollars, in cash.

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><p><strong>So what do you guys think? Review below and let me know. Stay tuned for the next instalment of Burned Angel.<strong>

**Love ya all.**

**-Eos**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks a lot for the reviews, favs and follows guys. You people are awesome. Sorry for the delay in publishing this chapter. I don't own Vampire Diaries nor do I own King Elijah. So I guess we covered everything. On with the story then…**

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><p>Chapter Eight<p>

No matter how many times that you told me you wanted to leave  
>No matter how many breaths that you took, you still couldn't breathe<br>No matter how many nights that you lie wide awake to the sound of poison rain  
>where did you go? Where did you go? Where did you go?<br>As days go by, the night's on fire.

Tell me would you kill to save a life?  
>Tell me would you kill to prove you're right?<br>Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn  
>this hurricane's chasing us all underground<p>

-Hurricane by 30 seconds to Mars

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><p>The limousine that had transported Elijah Mikaelson from the airport to Elena Gilbert's house whisked him from there to a private estate on Lake Michigan. The driver, a quiet, uniformed German who handled the car as deftly as he had once wielded his sword for a forgotten emperor, said little to distract him.<p>

_Go back. Go back and get her. She is yours_.

Elijah resisted the urge to do just that. The doctor was not dead or in any danger of dying from exposure to his blood. Nor was she enraptured any longer, if she had ever been at all. The only thing preventing her memory from returning had been a lingering trace of compulsion and Elijah's expunging, which he had easily dispersed.

She was safe, whole, and human. Somehow in the last week, she had shrugged off madness, catatonia, and death.

_Alone. By herself_.

The sights and sounds of Chicago blurred past the windows as he considered his options. What Elena Gilbert had done was beyond his experience. Her existence defied both human medical science and Vampyras lore, and the consequences on either side promised to be brutal. Particularly for those who still believed that the Upir were cursed for eternity.

_What is she to us_? _To me_?

Elijah didn't realize the car had stopped until the driver opened his door. He looked out at the stark lines of the contemporary structure, which looked more like a sprawling research laboratory than a home, and climbed out.

Trevor, the caretaker of the Chicago _sector_, waited outside the entrance to his home. The slim man wore casual, modern clothes that did nothing to camouflage his military bearing. Flanking him were four large, blank-faced bodyguards, all of whom Elijah knew would be superbly trained and disciplined. Their master expected nothing less than perfection from his men, and drilled them until they were precision death machines. The five men waited in silence until Elijah approached.

"My lord, Elijah." Trevor clicked his heels together and bowed his head, as only an Austrian could do without looking ridiculous.

_I am killing you, Elena_.

_Could you love me a little first_?

Every time he closed his eyes he could hear her in his head. Her lips forming those words that rendered his heart helpless. He couldn't love her, shouldn't love her. He was a man stained by time and his deeds and she was as pure as virgin snow. If he touched her, if he tasted her, he would forever tarnish that pristine piousness.

But what about this need that clawed at him?

"Florida has no caretaker at present, Lord Elijah. The vampires there are getting out of hand. They refuse to follow the laws of Upir and if they continue in the way they are, there won't be much time left when we are exposed." Trevor said bringing him back to the present.

It seemed his people had forgotten who had made their rules and who upheld them. They had forgotten their king and that won't do at all.

"My plane would be ready in an hour Trevor. I would like you to accompany me to Florida." His smooth voice was just a cover hiding that primal beast that relished the torn bodies and warm flowing blood.

"My lord, if I am allowed, I would like to say something."

"Just spit it out Trevor. I am not going to take your head off."

"My lord, I am not that confident." He paused, took a deep breath as if he was going for his own execution, "why don't you kill the human doctor?"

Trevor found a hand painfully holding his heart before he could take a breath. Elijah Mikaelson's inhuman eyes filled with fury and rage, stared at him.

"How dare you? How dare you even think it? I have always lived by my word Trevor and you have the gall to suggest that I break it?"

In depths of his being Elijah Mikaelson knew what had prompted such a reaction in him but this was not the time to think about how good doctor's blood still called him.

He drew back his hand from Trevor's chest cavity in disgust. What the hell had gotten inside him? Trevor was one of his trusted caretakers.

When he had set his foot in the new world, an idea for dynasty, for kingdom had taken root in his head and he had worked tirelessly for it. He had divided America in sectors and placed caretakers in each one of them. He had done so in every part of the world. A world order for vampires within world of humans. Upir existing with humans. A human world where monsters were just in storybooks and Upir got unlimited supply of blood.

Elijah admired the interior of the estate house, which was spare and furnished in a clean, minimal style. The steel and black colors Trevor preferred reminded him of the industries that had first drawn the Upir to come here to Chicago.

Where there were factories, there were people—enough to keep the Upir safe, nourished, and anonymous.

The English Upir had moved west, while the French had gone south, but the Austrians and Germans had stayed and flourished. Next to New Orleans, Chicago was one of the oldest, and most prosperous, of their American outposts.

They had experienced their share of troubles, too. The old caretaker, a German named Alaric, had been picked up for questioning during the early days of World War II. Anyone with a German name or accent had been fair game, but Alaric's odd behaviour had attracted the attention of the jail-house chaplain, a rather talkative Catholic priest. Before the _sector _could arrange for their caretaker's release, Alaric was tortured to death.

Alaric had been the _sector_'s leader for more than a hundred years, and his loss had terrified his people enough to scatter and drive them underground for three decades. Only when they felt it was safe enough to reintegrate into society did the Chicago Upir regroup and timidly petition him for a new caretaker.

He had taken Kol's suggestion and sent Trevor to Chicago.

Trevor understood what fear was. He had led thousands of men into battle, and knew that while fear could not be destroyed, it could be trained and channelled. When he came to take over Chicago, he deliberately used the _sector_'s fears to bind them together in order to train them. The Upir were gradually transformed from paranoid followers into paranoid soldiers.

Which was what Elijah Mikaelson required.

* * *

><p>The music was very faint out here but he could still smell the cheap alcohol and sex in the air. What was with youth of today and their taste in music?<p>

Elijah Mikaelson was bored out of his head but Trevor insisted that rogue vampires of Florida sector came here for their daily night time snack.

It was ten minutes of mindless waiting when he saw the first one of them. The boy was no older than 5 in his vampire years and he had two human girls with him. Others soon followed him, in various states of hunger or satiation with humans following them like mules. This is what they had made of his rules? A mockery?

It was time he reminded his vampires of his kingly status.

"Evening boys."

They all reacted in similar fashion which was rather uncreative and dull, alone for which he wanted to have their hearts.

"Who the fuck are you?" the boy in front of him raised his eye brow as if he was the one in charge. Well, well, well young Vampire, it looked like somebody was too eager to be in control.

"Just someone who is passing by." He raised his hands in surrender.

"Don't you know you have to pay tax to hunt here? This is my area." The boy said imperiously.

"And what would your name be young one?"

"Tyler, Tyler Lockwood you piece of shit. Bow your head when you talk to me." The said Tyler Lockwood thundered, presenting a very imperious sight with human girls hanging on both his arms.

"But you bow before your caretaker or your king. Are you either one of those?" They couldn't see the mounting fury beneath this calm facade Elijah wore as second skin.

"Caretaker or king?" Tyler started laughing, "Haven't you heard Vampire? Florida has no caretaker and our king? Who has seen the king of vampires?" he shouted to his comrades, no one answered. He turned towards Elijah again, "we have no king. He is a fable, a story concocted by sires to terrify the sired. Where is he?" Tyler turned again as if searching for someone, "where is he? I see no one Vampire. There is no claim on shadows, so why shouldn't I stake mine?"

"Does absence of king means absence of rules too?" Elijah asked.

"Rules? We are Vampires, the highest predators in food chain. We aren't pansy assed fairies. Rules aren't meant for us." Tyler said as he sunk his fangs in the jugular of the human girl on his left.

"Are vampires even above Self-perseverance?"

Tyler looked at him as if he had crawled out from some prehistoric cave, from time when rules and morality, shit like that mattered.

"Self-perseverance? Who should we fear? Buffy the vampire slayer or Blade?" Tyler mocked.

"Me." His answer was softly spoken and yet they heard it, heard it as clear as church bells tolling.

The hair at the back of their necks rose from the unnamed fear they sensed, their hearts felt hollow, blood drying in their very veins. When Elijah Mikaelson lifted his head, his eyes burned an unholy blue, as if he would burn them with his gaze alone. They could feel the air picking up slowly as if preparing to dance, to do as he desired. Who was this man with those haunting sapphire eyes? Who was this man whose gaze alone was forcing them to kneel?

They could feel their limbs moving on their own violation. They were moot spectators of their own subservience as they knelt without a word before him as if they were just created to be ruled by him.

Even kneeling Tyler couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Who the fuck are you, you freak?" his voice trembled and came out as pathetic as he hadn't intended it to be.

"The king you mocked, young Vampyras. The king you think is just an echo of the stories your sires told you." He walked slowly towards young Lockwood, enjoying the fear that radiated from the younglings skin.

"So you think you are above my rules, young Vampyras? Above my laws?" the quite chuckle was far more deadly than his raised voice.

"Let this be a demonstration for all of you young rebels who think these shadows of nights are unclaimed. Let this be a warning for all of those who think there is no king of vampires. From now on, every broken rule will be punished tenfold, every toe out of line will result in loss of the limb that toe is attached to." He lifted Tyler Lockwood up by the scruff of his neck and held his face tight enough to shatter bones. The young Vampyras whimpered in pain.

"Carve your heart out slowly from your chest. You won't stop until you feel the last breath leave your body."

The poor vampire. Elijah knew young Tyler Lockwood could do nothing but pull his own heart out even when he knew doing so would end him.

As Elijah Mikaelson walked away from a seedy little club that played even seedier music, the howls and shrieks of pain became the beats on which the ferociously hungry wind danced with abandon.

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><p>Elena had been a missing person, so the police were happy to come out and take her statement. They didn't laugh, because like her, they were convinced she had been the victim of a serial killer, one who possibly believed he was a vampire. The FBI was contacted, as were a number of other agencies.<p>

That opinion changed forty-eight hours later, when the detective in charge of the investigation came to see Elena at her home, where she was being guarded around the, clock.

"Dr. Gilbert, we're running into a few problems tracking down this man you say came to see you." He flipped open a notebook and the dark-stoned signet ring he wore flashed.

"You said his name was Elijah Mikaelson, and that he resides at some place called Chateaux de la mort in the city of New Orleans. Is all that correct?"

"Yes."

He closed the notebook. "Here's our problem, ma'am. There is no Elijah Mikaelson residing in the city of New Orleans, and no house by that name at any address within the city limits. We tried all the airlines, but no one with Mikaelson's name or description has flown from New Orleans to Chicago in the last six months."

"He has to be there. It was a huge house, a gorgeous frigging castle." She tried describing what she had seen, and then added, "Did you find his assistant? I gave you his full name, too."

"There's no one by that name residing in New Orleans, either." He gave her a strange look. "As far as this vampire serial killer thing, well, maybe there are some details you forgot to put in your statement?"

"I told you everything." Except that she had operated on Mikaelson. She wasn't losing her medical license because some sick bastard wanted to play at being Dracula.

"You know, when I'm under a lot of pressure, I like to get away. Just for a couple days, you know?" He sounded friendly, almost sympathetic now. "The doctor who works with you?"

She peered at him. "What has Matt got to do with this?"

"Let's say you met a new guy and decided to shack up with him a few days without telling Matt."

"I wouldn't do something like that and Matt and I aren't together."

"Let's say for the sake of argument that you did. This new guy is hot, but he doesn't work out, or you change your mind. Everybody gets second thoughts, Doc. You come home, but what are you going to tell Matt?" He spread out his hands.

Heat rose into her face. "First, I wouldn't lie to Matt. Second, I don't like what you're implying."

"Making up a good story would bail you out, though. Especially if it scares your boyfriend instead of making him pissed at you." The friendly tone grew chilly. "You could even do some stuff to make it look real."

"I was found knocked out, with half of my blood missing, in an airport bathroom." She stared hard at his hand for a moment—the ring he wore looked so familiar—and then looked into his eyes. "Would you do that to cover a lie you told your girlfriend?"

He shook his head. "But I'm not a doctor."

Elena thought of something else. "I promised Mikaelson that I wouldn't tell anyone about this." Now that she had, would he come back and finish the job? She hadn't thought of that before.

"Sometimes, Doc, it's just better to tell the truth." He stood up and pocketed his notebook. "Until you can do that, there's nothing we can do for you. I'd look into getting some professional help."

"Wait." Her mind raced as she followed him to the door. "What about the briefcase?"

He stopped. "What briefcase?"

Elena hadn't told the police about the money, either. The briefcase and the money Mikaelson had left were sitting in the back of her bedroom closet. Ten million dollars would prove she was telling the truth.

Her gaze was drawn to the dark ring he wore. It wasn't a signet ring, but a square-cut black cameo with a white profile carving, but it was of a man, not the usual woman. The man faced to the left instead of the right, too. She wouldn't have noticed it if Miranda Gilbert hadn't collected cameos.

Elena realized why the cameo looked so familiar. She had seen a nurse in the hospital wearing earrings just like it.

_It's just a stupid coincidence_. Common sense grabbed her by the throat before she said another word. _Show him the money, and he'll want to know why Mikaelson left it. Then you'll have to explain operating against your will on a man who heals spontaneously, which you're not even sure was real. The cop has a nice, fast car. Won't take him that long to run your crazy ass over to the nearest psych ward_.

"Ah, didn't I see you carry a briefcase in here?" Elena asked, making a stupid show of looking around the floor.

"No, ma'am." He frowned. "Check into talking to someone, please. It will help."

When he left, Elena went back to the bedroom and pulled out the suitcase. The money, all neatly stacked and bound, was real. Which meant that Elijah Mikaelson was real? She had ten million dollars for fixing the face of a killer—or for believing she had.

But no one would cover an illicit affair with ten million dollars, so why would Mikaelson use it to reinforce a drugged fantasy? She must have done it, and the only way that could have happened was that he did heal instantly.

Her stomach clenched. _What if he is everything he said he is_?

She looked up at the window. Vampyre or crazy man, he might be watching her house. She wasn't safe here, and if she didn't move fast, she might find out exactly what Elijah Mikaelson was. Her hands started shaking again as she slammed the briefcase shut and lugged it out of the bedroom, stopping only for her car keys.

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><p><strong>Love it? Hate it? Review below and let me know. Till then stay tuned for the next chapter of 'The Burned Angel'.<strong>

**-Eos**


	9. Chapter 9

**Where do I start? Well first things first. HAPPY NEW YEAR you amazing awesome people! I got so many PM's and requests to update the next chapter of this fic, and I was truly humbled when you left the request to update this fic in the review of other fics. I AM SORRY FOR THE TIME I TOOK, THE MUSE WAS ON A WORLD TRIP. Now when she is back, I have grabbed her by throat, and I am not letting her go until she complies with me for the future of this fic. I don't own the characters or story or Vampire Diaries.**

**So without further ado, I give you the next chapter of 'Burned Angel'.**

**:)**

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><p>Chapter Nine<p>

I never knew  
>I never knew that everything was falling through<br>That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue  
>To turn and run when all I needed was the truth<br>But that's how it's got to be  
>It's coming down to nothing more than apathy<br>I'd rather run the other way than stay and see  
>The smoke and who's still standing when it clears.<p>

-Over my head by The Fray

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><p>Elena was wide awake, and she was counting the dust particles on the motel ceiling. This was the seventh one in two weeks. She had been running after she had left her house while carrying Mikaelson's millions in his handmade Italian leather bag.<p>

Half hours away from home she had thought she was paying too much heed to her paranoia, and she had decided to turn around and call the number Mikaelson had left with her, but then she had spotted her tail. It was a black non-descript SUV and the driver had been wearing shades. In the night. He had kept his distance of two cars in between them all along the interstate. An hour of this chase had solidified her opinion of sick Mikaelson and his crazy games.

Years of driving like hellhound in training with Caroline Forbes had taught her a trick or two. She lost him on the interstate, and then had drove like a maniac for whole night and had clocked out at the first motel she could find come the morning.

She had existed like a person running away from something. She was a person running away from something. A crazed serial killer with overabundance of money for starters. She had slept in the morning, drove at night. The sun had irritated the goddamn shit out of her that first day when she had tried to drive in the morning.

Sun would rise in couple of hours, bringing headaches, itches and god knew what with it. It was time for her daily call to April Young. The phone was picked up after two full calls.

'Elena, is it morning yet?' the yawn made its way in her assistant's voice.

'No, but it will be. So did Dr. Sage send you the results of the slide shots that I had sent her?' she had to know what was happening to her.

'Well she says it's a weird ass new thing she has not encountered before. She says the cells show the symptoms of Septicemia and Leukemia, and yet it's not either of those. She says she is gonna need actual samples and marrow to make sure what this thing is, not only shots. She also emphasized that this is some kick-ass Noble material, so she would be glad to assist you on this thing.'

Bloody hell, she was going to die. Misery made a way in her defensive shields of survival and she wanted to fucking shout at the unfairness. Leukemia? Septicemia? What had Mikaelson infected her with? Well, if she was going to die then surely that depraved son-of-a bitch wasn't going to live longer. There was a bit comfort in that thought. Elena didn't want to be responsible for death of innumerable young women.

'Elena, are you okay?' there was concern in April's voice and it clawed at her heart. If she was going to die, did she not deserve the comfort of her home and support of her family and friends? She had not talked to Aunt Jenna, Jeremy or Caroline in months. She was going to die in some motel and become a Jane Doe. The barely leashed tears started leaking slowly from the corner of her eyes.

'Dr. Donovan came by again. He was really sad. Where are you, Elena?' April asked.

Where was she? She didn't know. Cities, states, towns they had all passed in blur as she had ran. Poor Matt. He would grieve, but it was better if she stayed far away from him and her family. She didn't want Elijah Mikaelson to have any ideas. All April found on Elena's end was silence.

'You know what you need?' There was an optimistic note in April's voice. 'A good hearty meal.'

When had she last eaten? The thought of food tied her stomach in knots. The mere image of burger and fries made her want to vomit. If she remembered correctly, her last meal had been a plate of Salad in the diner near her motel. That was one week ago. She must have eaten something in between. Scientifically it wasn't possible for her to even crawl after a week of hunger, and here she was doing her every day chores normally. Was she suffering from selective amnesia? That could explain not remembering if she had eaten in a week or not.

'Hey Elena?'

'What?'

'There is an opening for office manager in Dr. Donovan's clinic. His office manager is on pregnancy leave. So I was thinking; you don't need me around the office now, do you? So I could maybe take Dr. Donovan's offer.'

Now due to this stupid shit Mikaelson had dumped in her bloodstream, she was going to lose her trusted April Young. Life was a bitch.

'Yeah, you should. Don't tell Matt anything about me.'

'You got it. Take care, will you Elena?'

'Sure.' Yeah she was stuck on monosyllabic answers. Fucking tears were clogging her throat again.

'Hey Elena? Don't be a stranger.' And April Young was gone from her life, just like that.

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><p>Elena Gilbert needed to check her blood work to figure out what was going on in her body. She broke in a hospital laboratory in the night. Dear god, she was breaking and entering. If her condition had not been dire enough, she wouldn't have done this.<p>

After four hours of back breaking peeking through holes and systematic analysis she found that she was no longer able to digest vitamins and the structure of her blood was bizarre. The red blood cells were going down in numbers while her white blood cell count was increasing rapidly.

She escaped the hospital near morning, making sure that none of her blood or results was around to stump the technicians in the morning.

She needed a laboratory for herself. She needed to lock herself in one to find what kinda shit Mikaelson had hooked her up with.

A possibility, a very farfetched one crossed her mind and she stumbled in her motel room with the first ray of sun. Had Mikaelson been right? Was there really a thing such as Vampirism?

* * *

><p>She rented a laboratory with the money Mikaelson had dumped in her lap. Then she went to bank and opened a trust fund for Jeremy's education. She could at least do this for her baby brother.<p>

And then she locked herself in the rented laboratory. She emerged after three weeks of rigorous research to call the number Mikaelson had given her.

'Have someone receive me at the airport.' She barked.

'Sure Dr. Gilbert.' The smooth voice sounded smug. It was that bastard Salvatore, that cocksucking bitch. She threw her phone across the room where it shattered in pieces.

* * *

><p>To say Elijah was waiting for Elena would be an understatement. His eyes had been scanning the same lines of his book from over two hours. She had chosen to come to him this time. The subtle scent of lavender permeated his senses. She was finally at his door. He had instructed his vampires to not let Damon anywhere in her sight. But he should have known that Damon would find a way to circumvent his orders. The bell rang on his door, and to his utter misfortune it was Damon who opened it.<p>

'Looking like a concentration camp refugee Dr. Gilbert, did you miss your meals?' Oh dear heavens, he would break Damon's neck for this. For once his advisor couldn't keep his mouth shut? Had he forgotten two weeks of desiccation Elijah had subjected him to for locking Elena with him after his surgery?

'You still look good, bitch. So I am assuming you must be draining cocks on regular basis?' Elijah choked. Elena had guts. From the frail beat of her heart, he concluded she had not transitioned yet.

'Take me to that bastard master of yours. We need to catch up, and Damon? She paused.

'Yes doctor?'

'You aren't invited.' And with that she made her way to the corridor that housed his study. She remembered the way. And why exactly did it make him happy?

He tried to appear busy, but the turn of knob attracted his attention automatically towards the door.

The woman who stood on his door was a far cry from the woman who had operated on him. Elena had lost a considerable amount of weight. She appeared gaunt, and haunted.

'It's not polite to stare. Didn't anyone ever teach you that Elijah?' she mocked as she came inside closing the door behind her. She took her seat opposite him nonchalantly as if they had met to discuss a trifle matter or two.

'Now you, Damon and me, we aren't the only ones, are we?'

'No.' he was lost in the strength of her eyes. She was braving whatever was eating her alone. He felt guilty at that thought. If only he hadn't been selfish enough to visit her again and make her remember.

'So vampire, huh? Like Bella Lugosi types, right? Sleeping in morning, drinking blood, hating garlic?'

'We are capable of going in sun. We just need more blood after that, and the smell of garlic is merely irritating, nothing else.'

'You guys don't sparkle, do you?'

'Beg your pardon?' Sparkle? What was she talking about?

'You know glitter, shine in sun, that kinda stuff? Edward Cullen is sparkly in Twilight, and he is a Vampire.' She pouted.

'We are a species and we are far different from what has been depicted in teenage romance novels.' He was dead serious in his answer.

'What have you been doing Elena?' he really wanted to know what she had been upto, to become this haggard.

'Well researching on me, and by an extension on you and that cunt who is listening with his ear pressed on the door. Fuck off Damon.' She shouted.

'Why are you researching?' What was she doing? And cunt? That was new.

'Well first things first, I have to know what is killing me. And then, is there a way to cure this disease that you have passed on to me?' she whispered.

'You are dying?' he was stupefied. Why had he thought she would be spared from the curse of his blood? It was just a matter of time. She too would die because of his blood.

'Well scientifically yes. My blood cells are being replaced by some cells that are like cancer cells but much more strong. They are gobbling up my original cells like burger and fries, and in turn changing me physiologically. I can't keep food down. My stomach has shriveled up like an old vagina, and I now need fresh blood to survive which I refuse to ingest. So long things short, I am dying.'

What? She refused to transition? So she was not dying by exposure to his blood, she was starving herself to death?

'Well even if you keep on trying Elena, you will rise after your death as Vampyras. It's entirely different thing that you have started to transition without dying. That has never happened before.' He looked deeply in her eyes, 'you are a miracle Elena.'

* * *

><p>Well Mikaelson was a pro in acting. She would give him that. His eyes showed so much wonder and awe that had she been naïve Elena prior to this infection in her blood, she would have believed him. He wanted to be all buddy-buddy right now, didn't he? Well tough luck Psycho bastard, her friend list was full.<p>

'Well I will have to make funeral arrangements for dying, won't I?' she joked. She would need to die if she rose as Vampire after her death. She would need help for that, just not his.

'So what more comes along with the package of this Vampire deal apart from instantaneous healing, good eyesight, audio range and night vision?' she queried.

'Well, you will be able to compel humans to do your bidding.' So that was what that bitch Damon had done to her.

'What about other Vampires?' Please say _yes_. She prayed silently. If she was able to make that weasel Damon wear a tutu and seduce random strangers, it would be the only perk of this bullshit deal.

'The compulsion doesn't work on other _Vampyras_. The _Upir_ are only susceptible to the compulsion of an Original.' There went her dream in gutter. There were no perks of being a vampire.

'Original?' now what was this new species of fuckwit?

'Me.' he answered simply.

'So you aren't a vampire?' Was there a god who was smiling at her? Did this mean she was infected with just some rare strain of disease unknown to the known world?

'Oh I am the vampire, Dr. Gilbert. The very first one.'

'You are Judas?' what has she gotten herself into? There was still a small part of her brain that refused to accept this unscientific concept of Vampirism. On top of that she had got herself bitten by the very man who had betrayed Christ?

She was definitely going to hell…

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><p><strong>So what do you think? Yay or nay? Review below and let me know what you thought of this chapter. Happy new year once again. Stay tuned for the next chapter of 'Burned Angel'.<strong>


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